


(Fools Rush In) Where Angels Fear to Tread

by enigmaticblue



Series: S6 Tags Series [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a fool,” Castiel thinks. “I have gone where angels fear to tread.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Fools Rush In) Where Angels Fear to Tread

Castiel swings his sword, his mind on nothing but the battle in front of him. Raphael’s forces have swelled in numbers, and the fighting has grown fiercer. Castiel hears Dean’s panicked cry, and the moment of distraction nearly proves fatal. His brother’s (enemy’s) sword pierces his side, and Castiel hears Hamael cry out, “Go, Castiel! Heal yourself!”

 

Castiel tumbles through the sky; his flight is too graceless to be termed anything else. He directs his path to Dean with some effort and crash lands at Dean’s feet.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s incredulous voice has Castiel struggling to sit up. “What the—no, hold still,” he orders.

 

Castiel obeys without thought, collapsing back on the floor.

 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Dean demands.

 

“I got distracted in the middle of battle.” Castiel allows Dean to push aside his trench coat and suit jacket to get a better look at his injury. “You called?”

 

“Sam had a seizure,” Dean explains. “And it kind of freaked me out. You got hurt because of me?”

 

Castiel winces as Dean finds the slash in his side. “No, not because of you. I was in the middle of a battle. How’s Sam?”

 

Dean shakes his head. “He had a seizure, he remembered hell, and then he snapped out of it. He’s still sleeping it off.”

 

“Are you okay?” Castiel asks, feeling a rush of concern.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously? You got stabbed, Cas.”

 

“I’ll heal.”

 

“Why aren’t you healed yet?”

 

“Because an injury caused by an angel’s sword is more difficult to heal.” Castiel hisses in pain as Dean probes his wound. “I’ll be fine. Eventually. Stop that.”

 

“Hold still,” Dean snaps. He pulls off Castiel’s tie and unbuttons his shirt. “You’re hurt because of me.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“You didn’t have to.” Dean reaches Castiel’s bare skin and runs his fingers along the gash. “Fuck, Cas. This looks bad.”

 

“It will heal.”

 

“You need stitches.”

 

“Not really. I just need a couple of days.”

 

“So, you’re stuck here until then?” Dean asks.

 

Castiel frowns. “Do you mind?”

 

“No, man. If you need to stay with us, it’s cool.”

 

Castiel probably doesn’t need a couple of days to recover—one day would be adequate—but he doesn’t argue. A reprieve from the battle is just what he needs.

 

And he suspects that Dean needs this as well. Dean appreciates looking after others, and Castiel isn’t up for much at the moment. He isn’t sure why he’s come here, except that Dean is the only person he can trust.

 

“I don’t have to stay,” Castiel offers. “It’s not necessary.”

 

“Shut up,” Dean replies, and his expression is affectionate. “Do you need stitches, or will a bandage be enough?”

 

“I don’t need stitches,” Castiel assures him.

 

Dean puts a hand in the middle of Castiel’s chest. “Then stay put.” He returns a few moments later with a first aid kit, and he sets about cleaning and bandaging the wound without another word. Castiel feels as though he should say something. Should tell him that he’s going to be fine, that he doesn’t need Dean’s care. Castiel doesn’t want to place another burden on Dean’s shoulders.

 

Castiel says nothing, however. He’s enjoying Dean’s ministrations far too much to stop Dean.

 

“I think you’re good,” Dean says quietly once he’s finished taping the gauze in place. “You want to get some sleep?”

 

Castiel doesn’t need sleep, technically speaking, but he sees the dark circles under Dean’s eyes, and he thinks it might be necessary for him to admit a need for sleep just to get Dean to rest. “Yes, but only if you’re with me.”

 

“There’s a bed in the other room.” Dean leads the way through the abandoned house, and Castiel wonders why they haven’t stayed in a motel this time. “Come on.”

 

He helps Castiel to his feet and leads him back to a dusty bedroom.

 

“Sorry it’s not much,” Dean apologizes. “But you know how it is.”

 

“I do.” Castiel settles next to Dean on the bed. “Really, I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

 

“But it could take awhile before you’re fully healed, right?”

 

Castiel hesitates. “Dean—”

 

“It takes as long as it takes,” Dean says quickly. “It doesn’t matter. However long you need, we’ll stay.”

 

“Okay.” Castiel stretches out, trying not to aggravate his wound.

 

Dean lies down next to him and throws an arm around Castiel’s waist, carefully avoiding the injury. “Is this okay?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Castiel closes his eyes, feigning sleep, wishing that this could be enough. He feels Dean’s breathing even out next to him, and he opens his eyes, watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest.

 

If Castiel turns his head, he can see Dean’s profile, the dark curve of his eyelashes, the faint flush of sleep, the way the lines in Dean’s face smooth out in sleep, making him appear younger. Castiel feels a wave of longing; he feels as though he always wants something he cannot hope to obtain. He wants peace in heaven; he wants to not be in charge; and he wants Dean safe.

 

He just wants _Dean_.

 

This _thing_ with Dean is one of the reasons Castiel had not stayed when he’d been restored for a second time. Dean might have been his charge, might even have been his friend, but Castiel had known better than to think they could have more, or be more.

 

At least, Castiel had believed that he’d known better until he’d jumped headlong into sex with Dean, and he can’t take it back. Castiel can’t pretend it never happened, and he doesn’t know that he wants to, but he can’t help memorizing Dean’s features now. His side throbs, and he knows how close he came to death today.

 

“I can hear you thinking, you know.”

 

Dean’s voice breaks the silence in the room, and Castiel starts, surprised. He’d thought Dean was still asleep. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What’s going on, Cas?”

 

“I think we’re losing.” The confession is out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Castiel closes his eyes. “And even if we don’t lose….”

 

He stops, unable to give voice to his deepest fears.

 

“Sam isn’t going to stop scratching at that wall,” Dean replies softly. “I kept telling him how dangerous it was, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t know if he didn’t believe me, or if he was just being a dumbass.”

 

“You fear losing him.”

 

“I afraid of losing a lot of things,” Dean admits. “I almost lost you today, didn’t I?”

 

Castiel cannot bring himself to lie. “Yes.”

 

“And I wouldn’t have known.”

 

Castiel opens his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t have known.”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. How are you feeling?”

 

“It still hurts, but I’ll recover.”

 

“I need to check on Sam,” Dean murmurs and slips out of bed.

 

Castiel remains where he is, and he can hear the soft murmur of voices from down the hall. If he concentrates, he can make out the words—Dean’s questions, Sam’s quiet assurances that he’s _fine, really_ —and Castiel smiles. As much as he fears what will happen when Sam inevitably regains his memories of hell, he’s grateful for Dean’s sake that Sam is back now.

 

The floorboards squeak, and Dean steps into the room, closing the door gently behind him. “What we’ve got here between us—this could get you killed.”

 

“There are many things that can get me killed,” Castiel replies evenly. “But yes. This is one of those things.”

 

Dean remains near the door, his expression shadowed. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel sighs. “I have weighed the risks.”

 

“I’m not comfortable with being the reason you’re killed,” Dean snaps, although he keeps his voice low.

 

Castiel props himself up on an elbow. “Do you remember when you told me that there were things in this world worth fighting for? What we have—that’s one of those things.”

 

Dean swallows audibly. “Yeah, I guess, but—”

 

“What is the pointing fighting if you can’t enjoy those things?” Castiel asks, dropping back on the bed. “But if you insist on ending our relationship, I’ll understand.”

 

Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, his back to Castiel. “No, I’m not going to insist. Dammit, Cas, I don’t want you to be killed because of me.”

 

“I would be killed because of _me_ ,” Castiel points out. “I’ve made my own decisions.”

 

“Yeah, we’re both stubborn sons of bitches. I should have figured.”

 

“Do you want to end it?”

 

“I don’t think I can.” Dean laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “Fuck, Cas, I need one person I can trust not to go darkside, or insane, and who won’t lie to me.”

 

“I know. I feel the same way.”

 

Dean turns, stretches out next to Castiel, and cradles Castiel’s face with one hand. He meets Castiel’s lips with his own in a sweet, searching kiss. This kiss holds none of the desperation they’d had in the past. Castiel can feel a heady thrum of emotion, and a sense of rightness infuses him.

 

“I am a fool,” he thinks. “I have gone where angels fear to tread.”

 

But as Dean kisses him deeply, as though they have all the time in the world, Castiel has no regrets.


End file.
